Backwoods Poems - Poems about Backwoods

Hairy spiders do not grill steaks on consecutive Tuesdays due to alternate-side-residency- restrictions in bushes on parkways Nevertheless, if seeking opportunities to slake cracked-throat-thirst Welcome to the Wetlands where founts of poetry burst...

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I'm here looking at the sky, cultivating the sun on my skin... in inspiration ...

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Backwoods, cracked dry land yet exists spring time blooming... wild cactus flowers...

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I'm a native born morning in Appalachia, smoky mountains surround my holy ground. Life in a single-wide far from the road never gets old. nor do two ducks trying to mate in my leaky rubber pool. Yesterday's wine bottle is empty again yet I pour myself out sip the chill mist light up, let the hot tobacco heat the dew on my lips. The birds are making...

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Singer, sing your people, people don't know how to sing... sing the old, sing the new, for young and old to listen... From times gone by, so much land and so much sea... struggles that people is involved or for hope galloping... Singer if you're smart, can even tell us a lot, what's wrong and what's right and the lords of star... From fights...

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Oxes paste mirage in semi-árid pasture of apparent plant,,,...

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Those long walks in the quiet backwoods haven't faded from the vivid memory, and where once white oaks and elms waved and offered shade on summer days had a refreshing breeze which felt heavenly. Didn't you enjoy the strolls with your sweetheart laughing? Weren't they more memorable than smiles flashed for a reason, and looking straight up you...

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Misery's my masterpiece I'm a Rembrandt of the blues My bucket list, only consists Of a pair of worn out shoes Nashville spit me out And that's a hard pill, to swallow Much like my Backwoods Bravado My backwoods bravado Helps me write these songs It's also the reason Why I'm still alone I'm hard on myself Because pride don't pay bills And living helped me render These skills I...

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The dusty road is now black topped Windows can be opened to let in plenty of clean fresh air though no house stands chosen The fence still stands in some places The pasture filled with trees Our large garden spot overgrown Once gathered in no breeze Memories happy and unpleasant Flood my memory banks Thoughts of the graveyard flow Overgrown with vines or blank? Is the path...

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anacreontic verse The path seems clear before me. Strolling before daybreak, each step becomes a test for my lack of concentration. Up ahead, a tangle of vines forces awareness, brings blood to my cheek. Unseen rocks and holes disturb my gait; my ankle complains. I resolve to return to this path with proper tools, chop the briars, and move the rocks to fill the holes. Encroaching further upon nature’s yard, I am warned...

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Hang yourself from that family tree, cut it down build a coffin for you and me. I ain’t got time for that threshin’ floor. Not the first time I’ve felt the inside of a warm body cavity and understood. Stretch the flesh, and visions told. Prophesies rot within bleached skulls. The sun knows no...

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It existed, backwoods, Since the peaceful childhood; Where only tranquility, Warmth and tenderness Bordered our intentness. However getting into life.. Absorbing experience, Getting well-known to what's novel, Taking hard fortitudes, Contributing all accessible chances Attempting for a better eventual, Leading for a self-satisfied grownup, Are snatching it from me. Whatever authorities were, Hard decisions must be picked up. Requesting luxurious serendipity, Requires much sufferance And acclimates the envier thirsty, But at least...

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